


Tell Me It's Not Real

by squirtturtle665



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, patient eames, really a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtturtle665/pseuds/squirtturtle665
Summary: Arthur has a nightmare, and Eames is at his side when he wakes up.





	Tell Me It's Not Real

**Author's Note:**

> WOAH, I'm actually posting something. The last few months have been a shit show, but I'm hoping to start writing a lot more. Thank you so much for reading!

It’s his fault. All of it.

              It’s his fault that the world is burning.

              It’s his fault that people are dying.

              He doesn’t know what he did or why it’s happening, but he is very aware that it’s all his fault. Somehow.

              The thing is, he doesn’t know how to fix it. As he walks the streets, witnessing the flames and hearing the screams of innocent people, all he wants to do is fix it.

              Dead bodies litter the streets. Smoke clouds the air. The temperature rises and rises. There are no sirens of fire engines. No one is coming to help.

              People start to recognize him. They shout obscenities in his direction, and he wills his body to walk over and help them escape the raging fires, but his legs push him on. He doesn’t know where he’s walking to, but his gut tells him he’s getting close to his destination.

              He arrives in front of a house on fire. He feels a connection to whatever or whoever is inside that he can’t describe. His body finally allows him to enter the house.

              The heat is instantaneous, and his lungs fill with smoke. He covers his nose and mouth behind the crook of his elbow before wading through the darkness. His legs take him up a staircase, toward the flames, where the heat is unbearable and breathing isn’t an option.

              He walks down a seemingly endless hallway that only gets hotter. Eventually, he reaches a door, and he knows he has reached his destination. He opens the door to a scorched room, and his eyes fall to the body lying on the floor. Although the room has been destroyed, the body looks completely untouched by the flames.

              But it’s too late. The person who once inhabited this body on the floor is long gone.

              All at once, recognition and emotion flood his being as he drops to his knees next to the dead body.

              Eames. _His_ Eames.

Eames is dead, and it’s his fault.

              Once this has been realized, the flames engulf the two lovers, entombing one in his guilt forever.

\---

              The lights are on when Arthur jolts awake, gasping for breath. He is able to drag himself away from a full-on panic, but he can still feel the flames devouring him and Eames.

              “There we are, gorgeous, come back to reality,” a voice says from next to him. “It’s better here, I promise.”

              Arthur refuses to look over his shoulder until he knows for sure. Instead of letting himself fall deeper into the hand rubbing circles into his back or the kiss on the back of his neck, he shakily reaches into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out his gun and his totem. Arthur wastes no time in rolling the die, feeling every muscle in his body relax when he sees a three staring back at him.

              “Arthur.”

              Eames. _His_ Eames. Real and alive and unscathed Eames.

              Arthur secures his gun and his totem back in the drawer before finally turning around to find a very concerned-looking Eames resting up against the headboard.

              “Come here,” Eames says, opening his arms to Arthur.

              Arthur gratefully settles into Eames’ side, Eames’ arm wrapping tightly around him. He watches the rise and fall of Eames’ chest, trying to forget the stillness of it in his dream.

              “You were gone,” Arthur whispers, afraid of admitting such a fear.

              “I’m right here, darling,” Eames responds.

              “No, Eames. You were dead, and it was my fault.”

              Eames holds Arthur tighter and places a kiss on the top of his head. Arthur feels some of the fear and anxiety leave his body.

              “My love, how could it possibly have been your fault?” Eames asks sincerely.

              Arthur realizes that this might be the most ridiculous conversation he’s ever had with someone, but Eames’ patience makes him feel safe enough and loved enough to feel no ridiculousness at all. It was a dream, but he knows Eames understands better than anyone that a dream _is_ real. Well, at least until consciousness comes kicking its way to the surface.

              Arthur swallows hard and tightens his own grip around Eames. “I could just feel it. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening, but my body led me to a house, and you were there, and there was a fire…,” he trailed off, breathing heavier.

              “Hey,” Eames says. Arthur glances up at his kind, tired eyes. “That dream means nothing. It’s not like the dreams we used to create and could control. It means nothing,” he repeats.

              Arthur nodded, finally believing it. Part of him wishes he could go back to creating dreams with the PASIV so he wouldn’t have dreams naturally. The other part of him knows that time in his life is over. He traded it in for a much safer, happier life with Eames.

              Eames’ fingers run through Arthur’s hair, and Arthur sighs with content. Since they left the professional life behind, Arthur has been letting his hair grow out. It’s not unruly by any means, God no, but it’s curlier, more natural. Eames loves it, and there’s not a day that goes by without him mentioning it.

              “Why are the lights on?” Arthur questions, eyes growing heavy.

              “I never turned them off,” Eames responds. “I was just coming to bed and saw you sweating and breathing heavily, and I knew if I turned the lights off, I’d fall asleep. I didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up, so I left them on,” he explains, voice growing quieter.

              Arthur scoots up in bed so he can kiss Eames because, holy fuck, that’s probably the cutest and most caring thing anyone has ever done for him. It’s a slow, sleepy kiss, but it still sends tingles through Arthur’s entire body.

              “You are something else, Mr. Eames,” he says against Eames’ lips.

              Arthur gives him one more kiss before getting out of bed to turn off the lights. Eames welcomes Arthur back in bed with an “I love you” and a strong, protective arm wrapped around him.

              “Thank you, Eames,” Arthur says.

              Eames places a kiss on Arthur’s shoulder. “Sweet dreams, darling.”

              It’s the last thing Arthur hears before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

             

             

 

 


End file.
